


Put On Your War Paint

by Zhie



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 14:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: The year is 261 of the First Age.  At a family gathering, Maedhros sees Fingon for the first time since Fingon’s defeat of Glaurung.





	Put On Your War Paint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cherepashka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherepashka/gifts).



> Written for cherepashkadrabbles for officialtolkiensecretsanta 2018 as a backup fic
> 
> Request elements:   
> –Post-Thangorodrim and/or Long Peace Russingon   
> –Tangled Finwëan family dynamics   
> –POC depictions of characters   
> –Nonbinary characters  
> –Fluff with some bittersweet   
> –Angst with an optimistic ending 
> 
> Notes: I was listening to Fall Out Boy’s ‘The Phoenix’ on repeat while writing this. Thank you to Narnvaeril for beta reading on short notice!

261 First Age

 

“One more song? Please? One more?” begged Celebrimbor.

Around a large bonfire in Dorthonion, all of the sons of Fëanor and Finarfin were gathered. It was a reunion suggested by Aegnor, made possible through Angrod’s meticulous planning, and realized on the night that matched with another celebration happening in Middle-earth. Tarnin Austa would keep Turgon and Aredhel from attending, though no one expected the invitations (obviously sent in secret) to be answered, and the time of year mattered little. There was only one member of the Fingolfin household expected to attend, and while they had responded, they had yet to be seen.

“One more before bedtime,” said Curufin. “Only if Uncle Maglor will indulge you.”

Maglor had been responsible for the majority of the entertainment, and now offered to appease his nephew with assistance from his brothers and cousins. “Finrod, you have your harp--we should at least make this a duet. And Caranthir, no doubt you have your flute with you?”

“Only if Celegorm plays, too,” Caranthir said. 

Soon, all of them were retrieving instruments of oak and silver, and speaking excitedly about which song would be the most appropriate to play as a band.

All, save for Maedhros, who looked wistfully upon the harp resting in Maglor’s lap. At one point, Maglor fashioned some small drums for Maedhros to play so that he would not feel left out, but damage to his nerves made playing painful in short order. After enough encounters with orcs, who typically used large and imposing drums on their marches, Maedhros gifted the drums to young Celebrimbor to bang on.

Maglor looked up, sensing eyes upon him, and his shoulders slumped to see his elder brother’s expression. “Maybe we should--”

Maedhros shook his head and began to stand up. Maglor’s voice, soft and slurred, remained unheard over the excitement of the others. Quietly, Maedhros shifted away from the group and gave a look around. In all honesty, he had come not for himself, nor for his brothers, but for the desire to see his cousin. Very specifically, the cousin who was closest in age to him. The one who was not present despite written promises. 

There was a ridge above them, and Maedhros decided to retreat there. He gave a jerk of his head at it while still looking at Maglor, who nodded. A horse would make too much commotion, so Maedhros traveled by foot through the trees and up the incline. He was not exactly dressed for hiking, having worn one of his finest silk tunics of red and gold and tight black leggings with matching boots that cut off just below his knees. His hair was loose, and he was mindful of the trees, staying away from them as best he could to keep his copper locks from tangling--a peril more so for him than others due to his height.

From this vantage point, he could still see the festivities, though now he regretted not taking some food with him. Below he could see the spread of delicate treats and hearty appetizers, all of which had been overseen by Eldalótë. Now she was directing two bakers who were carrying an immense cake across the lawn to the partygoers, and Maedhros sighed at his decision.

“That sums up my entire week.”

Maedhros turned on his heel. Half-hidden in the shadows of the night, Fingon was visible to him now for three reasons: Their bright eyes, the glint of gold in their braids, and a hint of a smile. Fingon had a certain way of smiling. If their mouth was open wide, it was more often than not with some amount of fakery. Only when they had one side of their mouth turned up, dimple evident, and the slightest bit of white peeking out from between their full, dark lips, was it a real smile.

Many such smiles had been gifted to Maedhros over the years.

“How long have you been lurking here, cousin?” asked Maedhros as he approached. Fingon had found a little alcove, protected by the mouth of a small pseudo-cave and arching branches of a birch. Dressed in their typical travel clothing, they looked anything but typical. Their shirt was loose, gathered at the wrists to keep the sleeves from getting in the way while riding. It covered all but one of the tattoos that decorated Fingon’s arms and chest, for there was a hint of the colorful ink near Fingon’s throat. ‘My permanent war paint,’ Fingon had said of the first of many when they initially showed Maedhros what they intended. The other ‘war paint’ was the thick, dark eyeliner and other dark cosmetics used to accent their large eyes and high cheekbones. 

They did not wear pants, opting instead for a pleated leather skirt with a multitude of pockets and a thick leather belt from which a variety of handy objects hung. Dark leather boots climbed up to give an illusion of leggings; Maedhros knew that they cut off mid-thigh. Time and again, Maedhros was glad to know that his cousin had not opted for this garb while crossing the Helcaraxe. Just the memory of what Fingon had endured bothered Maedhros enough; he did not need additional guilt attached to the thought.

“Oh...midday, I think?” Fingon slid off their perch and embraced Maedhros as soon as he was within arms reach. “How has the party been?” 

“It would have been better if you were there with us,” Maedhros said. Fingon scratched their cheek once they each took a step back from the other. “Why do you hide up here? We all thought you had decided not to show up.”

“You know how odd it is for me to deal with...people,” Fingon settled on. They pulled back their hair and gave a little yawn. “I tried. I really tried, Maitimo. I think I walked down six or seven times, but, no, just, no. No, thank you. This is all still too soon for me. Maybe when people stop asking questions like ‘So, what was it like to fight a dragon?’ or ‘Do you ever wonder where your siblings are? Do you think they are still alive?’.”

Maedhros groaned, recalling a conversation he had overheard between Celegorm and Fingon some years prior. “Celegorm has his own motives and designs as they pertain to your sister,” Maedhros said, and not for the first time. 

“Oh, most certainly,” Fingon agreed. “It is not just that part of it. People look at me differently now.”

“Tell me about it,” muttered Maedhros.

Fingon closed the distance again with one of their rare real smiles and took hold of Maedhros by his right elbow. This time the smile was tinged with sarcasm as they spoke. “You mean, there are still people making judgements about you due to physical appearance?” Fingon slid their hand along Maedhros’ arm until they reached his wrist and reverently kissed the smooth skin found there. Maedhros shivered. “Give me names. I have words for them.”

“Only if you let me do the same for you.”

Fingon looked up, closed their eyes, and smiled--comfortable and close-mouthed, and Maedhros did not resist his urge to chastely kiss those beautiful, full lips. Fingon opened their eyes and sighed. “We should just run away together. Start our own realm. No kings, no crowns.”

Maedhros lowered his voice and whispered against the dark head of hair, “I like it when you wear your crown,” before he kissed Fingon’s brow.

Lips pressed together, Fingon considered this a moment. They stepped back and pointed elegantly at Maedhros, finger just slightly tapping his nose. “Then I will be your king,” they said.

With eyes locked, Maedhros knelt down gracefully, taking to one knee. “I pledge my loyalty to you, your majesty.”

Fingon chuckled and grasped Maedhros by the elbows so that they could pull him back up to stand again. “Just what is going on down there?” they asked as they peered down at the others. “Is the music over with?”

“Maglor was trying to coordinate one more song before Celebrimbor was sent to bed,” said Maedhros. The pair walked to the edge to look down at the others. 

“Did they try to get you to play those dumb drums again?” asked Fingon with ire in their voice.

“Ech. I think Maglor knew well enough not to suggest it.” Maedhros strained to listen to what few words echoed up to them, but it was hard to discern anything. “Pity they are not playing anything else this evening. I would love to dance with you.”

“Do we need music?” Fingon held out their hand. “We can dance to the beat of our hearts.”

With a grin, Maedhros took hold of Fingon’s hand. Each bowed to the other, and then Fingon nestled closely to Maedhros as they stepped and swayed together to a song unheard. “At least tell me you were going to seek me out before you left again,” said Maedhros.

“I was watching you the entire time,” Fingon assured him. “You know I would have found you. I always do.”

“I want to ask questions, but I do not want to upset or annoy you.”

“Ask away. You have full question asking privileges,” said Fingon.

“Do I?” asked Maedhros as he kissed the dark hair again.

“On account of being adorable,” Fingon added.

Maedhros smiled. “Do you intend to go back to Dor-lómin, or to stay in Hithlum?”

“Are those the only choices offered to me?” asked Fingon.

“What other choice do you desire?” Maedhros queried.

Fingon paused and turned their head, for music rose up from below. “I have it on good authority that Himring is nice this time of year.”

The was no way or reason for Maedhros to hide his own smile now. “What would your father think of such a choice?”

“Hypothetically, let us pretend I told him before I left to come here,” said Fingon. “Let us also hypothetically pretend that he gave me leave to do whatever I want, at least in the immediate future, because do you really want to tell the person who fought a giant lizard-demon all the way back to Angband that they are not allowed to go and see the person of their affection for more than a few days and only in the company of other family members?”

“The person of your affection?” repeated Maedhros with a blush to his cheeks.

“Ah, yes, well, some day, we should do something more formal, dearest one, but for now, I think that suffices. Besides, do we really care what anyone else thinks or calls us, so long as we know where we stand with one another? And for the record, where I stand is by your side,” Fingon said in a sly yet tender voice.

“One problem with that,” Maedhros said.

“Hmm?”

Maedhros motioned with his hand. “You are standing in front of me right now.”

Fingon tweaked Maedhros’ nose and stuck their tongue out at him. “See if I come visit you in Himring now,” they countered, but that slight upturn of their lip belied their words.

“You had better, my sweetling.” Maedhros pulled Fingon close again, and they rubbed noses together with silent mirth. “I would love for you to accompany me back to Himring.”

“Good. Because, honestly, I am ill-prepared to travel back to Dor-lómin at present, nevermind Hithlum,” Fingon admitted with some awkward laughter. “I even sent the escort that came with me back already.”

“Such confidence,” commended Maedhros.

“Well, as your personal king, I would have just commanded you to take me with you!” Fingon continued with further merriment. “Well, now, it sounds as if the music is done. Do you think, perhaps, there might be something leftover to eat? I had breakfast, but that was quite early, and nothing good. Nothing like Eldalótë makes, at least.”

“She was bringing out a cake when I came out here, and there are at least a dozen other things down there.” Maedhros held out his arm to Fingon. “Shall we? One of the best things about walking around together is we can always tell our inner critics that those who are staring must certainly be staring at our companion.”

“Oh, no, dear,” argued Fingon gently as they linked elbows with Maedhros and began to lead the way. “When they are staring at us, they are staring at US. And why not? Who would possibly NOT want to look at the most elegant couple in all of Middle-earth?”

Sometimes it was hard to tell when Fingon was being sarcastic, but Maedhros felt this was one of those times when they meant their words with complete sincerity. He tugged them back and brushed his thumb across Fingon’s cheek, just below the dusky powder. “Do you have any more of this stuff?” he asked.

“Oh...did I smudge?” wondered Fingon as they touched their cheek.

“No...you look absolutely elegant. I, on the other hand--”

Fingon immediately bounded back to the alcove where their traveling gear was stowed. They dug through until they had a fistful of brushes and glass jars. “Sit,” they directed as they pointed to a log along the pathway. Maedhros sat as Fingon first applied a conservative amount of cosmetics to his face, and then they ran back to fetch a small looking glass. After Maedhros admired Fingon’s work, Fingon touched up their own eyeliner before they put the items away and returned. “Now we are most certainly, without a doubt, the most elegant pair in Middle-earth.”

Maedhros placed his arm around Fingon’s shoulder, and Fingon leaned in with their arm around Maedhros’ waist. He kissed at Fingon’s eartip, exposed momentarily from the numerous braids and massive waves of hair, and the appendage fluttered the way it did whenever Fingon was particularly happy about a situation. “Then let them stare,” declared Maedhros as they made their descent.


End file.
